The Old Neighbourhood
by belleariakitty
Summary: In Manhattan is where we first lay our scene. Isabella Grace Castelluccio has just finished her internship at a prestigious magazine, and gets home to find out that she is to be moving back to live with her parents. In Belleville, New Jersey. This isn t just anyone's story. It isn t my brothers story, this is my story, and if you don t like it, deal with it
1. Prologue

I've never lived in the old neighbourhood, I'm not connected to the old neighbourhood, and I don't give a shit about the old neighbourhood. Well, until now. This isn't my brother's story, because god knows you'll be hearing enough about him in a few years. This is my story. The story of Isabelle Grace Castelluccio. If you don't like it, deal with it.

It happened to be an unusually chilly morning in Manhattan. Well, unusual as its August, and summer should still be in full swing. But alas, it happens to be one of the random pocket days that the temperature drops twenty degrees at the drop of a dime, so in the afternoon it'll be about eighty-two degrees.

Black short-shorts adorned my porcelain legs, and a long-sleeved, white chiffon shirt tucked into them. My strawberry-blonde hair was swept into a pony-tail, and my green eyes were hidden behind a pair of vintage Ray Ban's. I looked completely like a city girl or a city doll as we're sometimes referred to as.

I was on my way to my summer internship, the last day I'd be working at "La Belle" magazine. Basically, I was a glorified coffee girl, who often had to file papers and copy contracts, but hey, it looks good on a resume, and sometimes these internships turn into jobs. I balanced four coffees on a try in my hand. Two with three sugars and three milks, for Ms Hawthorne and Ms Wainwright, one black for Mrs Jasen, and the last three sugars and three crèmes for me. At least the coffee is free. The door-man opened the door for me, and I nodded my head in gratitude, as I pressed the button for the elevator.

By the time I had gotten up to the seventeenth floor of the building, where La Belle operated, everything was in chaos. Presumably because someone hadn't turned in their column for tomorrows issue and they're nowhere to be found. It happens almost every week. Clad in her four inch heels, and short shorts, Ms Piper Hawthorne ran over to me, taking three coffees and spilling a quarter of Mrs Jasen's on the floor.

"She won't notice," she said as she bustled away. "You got that spill, right Izzy?" she finished, already halfway across the floor to Mrs Jasen's room. Mrs Jasen happened to be Piper's mom. But the thing is, she re-married after Piper had turned eighteen, meaning Piper didn't have to change her name as well. Since it was easier for Piper to leave it the same, she did, though her step-dad may or may not resent her for that. But that's not really any of my business. The only reason I know is because Piper always has something to gossip about, whether it be a new star, or a co-worker, times are never boring with her around.

I walked over to the supply closet, a whole two meters from my desk, and pulled out an old mop, and a bucket, which thankfully was already filled with soap and water. The last time I had to fill it myself, the floor was soaked for a good twenty minutes and it took Piper and me a bit of time to clean it up. Not that she minded too much. She always has something to say.

Carefully, I pushed the bucket and mop over to the spill, and began to clean the caffeinated beverage off of the floor, before it could leave a light brown stain. I saw Piper, whose wavy-bobbed-ginger hair shifted slightly with the smallest movement she made, give me a thumbs up across the giant workroom. This signaling that Mrs Jasen didn't find out about her spill, and we'd managed to clean it up in the nick of time. Apparently, on an off day, I'm responsible for Piper, though shes older than me, as she's a bit eccentric. But hey, that's not exactly in my job description.

* * *

><p>My workday had gone like any other Wednesday, and finally, I'd gotten to leave that place. As a goodbye present, Mrs Jasen had given me a gleaming recommendation I could use on any job I wanted in the future {provided it had to do with writing or the media}, and I was set. Unfortunately, i wasn't well informed about what was happening in my home life. Sure, I lived with my god parents, and I'd always assumed it was because my parents couldn't take after me, but no one had told me when the internship was done I would be out of Manhattan for good.<p>

When I got back to the townhouse, numbered one-seventy-three, Aunt Rosalie had already packed up all of my stuff from my bedroom, and left a piece of paper on my suitcase with an address. The thing about the address was, it wasn't in New York at all. No. It was further than that. I had my bags packed, and I was on my way to Belleville, New Jersey. No questions asked.

Well, there were questions asked, but none of them were very relevant. Aunt Rosalie had called a cab upon my arrival, and handed me a piece of my going away apple pie. It took about five minutes until we were standing outside of number one-seventy-three with our hands tied into each other's strawberry-blonde hair, and my uncle was nowhere to be found. Rosalie helped put my suitcases in the trunk of the taxi, and ushered me into the vehicle, before closing the door as the driver pulled away.

"Next stop, Belleville, New Jersey." he said.


	2. Ciao, Bella!

The taxi had pulled up next to a slightly run-down house, and stopped. Fred, as I learned the cabbies name was, turned around and gave me a small smile.

"Well, Isabella, you're home. Welcome to Belleville, New Jersey." He said his voice slightly rough because of the few cigarettes he smoked on the way over. I gave him a smile as I handed him the money I owed him for the ride. "Do you need help with your bags?" he asked, as he opened his door, and then came over to help me out of the cab.

"That would be lovely, thank you." I replied with a soft smile, as I followed him to the trunk of the car. I grabbed my carry-on bag, a cerulean duffle bag with black lettering that spelled out 'I. Castelluccio', a gift from Piper, and walked up the concrete steps collecting myself, before bidding Fred adieu, as he set my suitcases down and turned away.

I took a deep breath and knocked thrice. It took a moment but eventually I heard footsteps growing nearer and a voice yelling at someone named 'Tom'.

"Hi, I'm Isabella Castelluccio, and Rosalie told me to come here because you're my mom?" I said, sort of questioning my purpose of coming here. She immediately embraced me in a tight hug, and began yelling.

"Miele squardo, il nastro bambino e tornado a casa! Isabella sei bella! Sei cresciuto cosi tanto!"{1} I blushed, and smiled looking at my feet.

"Oh, uhm, thank-you." I responded, as she helped me move my bags into the front hall, a small area, before she called out again, shutting the door.

"Frankie! Aiutare tua sorella con le sue borse!" she yelled, and continued muttering "Dio, lei e il tuo gemello, si potrebbe pensare che si sarebbe gia qui salutarla! {2}" She ushered me into the kitchen where she almost shoved me into a chair, while she began fussing over me.

"Are you hungry? Thirsty? What would you like? Some wine would be good, how about some wine." She said the last part more to herself rather than me, but I nodded politely anyways. "Frankie, non mi preoccupo se si mettono Tom, scendre qui cra! {3}"

"Thank you." I said, as she handed me a glass of red wine, as she sat across from me and smiled.

"So what have you been up to, wherever Rosalie took you?" she asked, sipping from her wine.

"Oh, I had an internship at 'La Belle' magazine, and I graduated high school early, so I was going to intern at 'Femme' magazine next, but they said I was overly qualified. Nothing too interesting." I replied, sipping on my wine, and smiling. She gasped at my response, setting her wine down abruptly.

"Questo incredibile! {4} Graduating early, Bella, that's an accomplishment! Where'd you get those brains from, not me!" she said as a louder set of voices could be heard coming closer.

"You could be bigger than Sinatra, my hand to god! All you gotta do is practise. Especially that 'b' flat." My mother stood up quickly and walked over to the doorway where she was glaring at the speaker.

"Frankie, ti ho invite verso il basso per incontrare tua sorella ecra tu vieni gui? {5}" she huffed and ushered the boys into the room. The shorter of the two, about my height actually, had parted black hair and the same skin tone as me. The taller had greased, parted, brown hair, and a slightly tanned skin tone.

"Questo e Isabella, Frankie's sorella gemello. Ben gemello fraterno. {6}" My mother said to the guys at the door. The black haired one stepped up quickly, offering his hand to shake.

"Nice to meet you Isabella, I'm Frankie." I smiled at him, shaking his hand and pulled him into a hug. This is how families are supposed to greet each other. As we let go, the brown haired one gave me a seductive smile.

"I'm Tommy. Tommy Devito. Frankie's friend." He said, while Frankie muttered, 'Not now, Tommy.'

"Anyways, we've got rehearsal today. A high school dance." Frankie said as he and Tommy headed for the door.

"Bye, Mrs. Castelluccio, goodbye, Isabella." Tommy said, and the door closed before mom could get out "Be back by eleven, Frankie!"

She turned to me, then, smiling, "So, Bella, should we get you settled in?"

When I was done unpacking, it was safe to say I was up later than usual. My new room looked mostly like my old room except for minor changes. For example, the windows were closer to the corners of the room now, and they are French styled. This room is purple, whereas my old room was pink. Small things like that. Faux cherry wood furniture was in the room, including my cherry wood vanity Rosalie had given me as a graduation present. The vanity had a pot of powder and blush, as well as various lipstick shades, and a half dozen lotion bottles.

My vision slowly got darker, as I was looking around my room, and at the white accents, and before I knew it, I was fast asleep, under the white comforter.


End file.
